


A Christmas Carol

by Meginoi (Delirious99)



Category: Thomas Sanders
Genre: A Christmas Carol AU, M/M, based off the book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-17 06:26:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13071015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious99/pseuds/Meginoi
Summary: Logan Sanders was infamous. A cold, uncaring man who very few knew anything about. Yet, one cold Christmas Eve he is forced to face his past actions by a series of eerie specters…





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for the fic must go to lamp-calm-sanders on tumblr, who gave me permission to write this. This chapter ended up being longer than i expected!

The snow that had been falling for the past week covered Victorian London in a blanket of glistening white. Snowflakes whirled and tumbled on a gust of wind before gently settling on the ground. People emerged from their small, cramped houses to laugh and shriek with joy as children ran and played in the streets, leaving countless tiny footprints indented into the once pristine and untouched snow behind them. 

Logan had never liked the snow. It was cold, and wet and made people act like idiots. Really, who wanted to run around in the cold all day when there were better things to be doing? He really couldn’t understand it. What was the point? In his opinion, that was why the poor stayed poor. They were always running off doing stupid, timewasting activities.

Logan sighed and turned away from the shop window, taking a seat at his desk. The air in the shop was frigid, not too different from the temperature of the December day outside. A small fire crackled in the fireplace, too small to warm any part of the shop that was more than a few feet away from the fire.

Logan picked up his pen, dipped it into the ink, and began writing. He was constantly working yet he always found some more work to do, even with the one worker he employed at the shop, not to mention the countless workers he employed to run his workhouse.

Said shop employee sat at a small desk at the other end of the room, in prime position to be hit by a cold blast of wind whenever the door opened. He rubbed his hands together in a vain attempt to warm his hands through the thin gloves he wore. He stared forlornly at the large locked box in the corner that announced that it held coal through a fancy inscription engrained on the front.

The worker looked up again, catching eye contact with Logan, who’s expression quickly formed into a scowl. He quickly looked down again and continued writing. He glanced over at Logan again a few seconds later, his boss was scribbling away again on a piece of parchment. He hesitantly placed his pen back on the desk and cleared his throat. Logan took no notice.

“Sir?”

“Jackson?” Logan replied, not looking up from his work.

“C-could we throw some more coal on the fire? It is tremendously cold in here,” Jackson stuttered, from nerves or the cold he wasn’t sure.

Logan still didn’t look up from his writing. Jackson thought he was going to ignore his question until Logan spoke. “What do you think I am running here Jackson? A hotel? You will get what you are given, and you will be thankful for it!”

“Y-yes sir.”

They lapsed back into silence. The soft crackling of the fire and scratching of pens on parchment the only sounds that could be heard. Occasionally, people would walk by, their laughing and jeering muted but nonetheless cheerful as it drifted through the thin glass panes.

The door burst open and a cold burst of wind filled the room. Jackson shivered at the gust of icy wind but hid it well, used to the low temperatures of his workplace.

A jolly man, wrapped in a warm winter coat, strolled into the shop, making his way towards Logan. He stopped in front of the desk, politely waiting for Logan’s attention.

Logan carried on writing, dipping his pen into the ink before scribbling down notes and numbers. He sighed as he reached the end of the line, lowering his pen and looking up to face the man in front of him. “Can I help you?” He asked, voice devoid of any warmth or welcome.

“Good evening sir, I am raising money for the poor and those in workhouses in the hopes that their Christmas can be made better by giving through goodwill. Things such as food, water and blankets. This is of course the season of giving and we should look after each other. What shall I put you down for?”

A deadly silence fell over the shop. Logan narrowed his eyes into an icy glare and stood, planting his hands on the wooden table. “Are you not aware that I own a workhouse?” Logan replied.

“Of course I am sir! You own the biggest one in London,” the man replied.

“Then why would I help?”

“But sir…without these things these people will die…”

“Then they should get on with it! And decrease the surplus population! Now good day to you, Sir,” Logan exclaimed, his breathing becoming heavy.

The man recoiled in shock and quickly left the shop, hastily dipping his hat to Logan before almost launching himself through the door and letting it slam behind him.

The shop was plunged back into silence. Logan sat back down, unfazed by the event. An outburst like that was commonplace for the infamous Mr Logan Sanders and everybody who set upon eyes upon him knew it, pushing him to an outburst was a feat not many chose to face.

He picked his pen back up and carried-on writing as Jackson stared from the corner in mild horror. He had seen many of his employer’s outburst but the intensity of them still never failed to shock and horrify him.

Logan felt Jackson’s gaze on him and looked up. “I don’t pay you to stare at me all day! Now get back to work,” he snapped, now in an even worse mood than usual from the previous altercation.

Jackson quickly returned to his work, not wanting to be the target of anymore of Logan’s newfound frustration.

The day continued normally as the sunset rapidly approached and brought Christmas Eve night with it.

The night of Christmas Eve was a magical one. Children of all classes and types would run to their beds in excitement for the next day.

And, sometimes, things would happen. Things so strange they would not be believed unless you saw them with your own eyes…

As the light finally disappeared and was replaced with a midnight sky dotted with clouds, Logan stood.  He sighed and glanced out the window at the merrymakers that walked through the streets, talking and laughing. He looked over at Jackson, who was still working, before turning back to the window. “You may go.” Was all Logan said.

Jackson looked up, neck aching from being angled down towards the desk, and smiled. He was finally free for Christmas. “Thank you, Sir!” He exclaimed, grabbing his belongings and getting ready to head home.

“Make sure to be here bright and early tomorrow,” Logan said, shrugging on his coat.

Jackson felt him stomach drop. He knew his boss was a miserable man, but did he really expect him to come in on Christmas Day? “Tomorrow, Sir,” he asked.

“Yes, you will be here at normal time. It is just another day.”

“But tomorrow is Christmas Day, Sir. No one works on Christmas Day. Please, all I ask is one day to spend with my family.”

Logan silently analysed his worker before sighing loudly and turning away to put out the fire, which was now no more than a few glowing embers. “Fine, you may have tomorrow off. But I expect you to be in extra early the day after.”

“Thank you, Mr Sanders!” Jackson exclaimed as he hurried out of the shop, “and merry Christmas!”

“There is nothing merry about it!” Logan called after him, but his words were abruptly stopped by the slam of the shop door.

The door hadn’t been shut for longer than a minute before it sprung open again, the tell-tale bell announcing the entrance of an unknown visitor.  

“We’re closed,” Logan announced not bothering to turn around.

“Now is that any way to talk to your favourite nephew?” A voice Logan knew well rang through the cold air.

“You mean my only nephew, Thomas?” Logan replied, finally turning around to see Thomas leaning against his desk. “Get away from there! You’re going to mess everything up,” he snapped, shooing Thomas to the other side of the room.

“Aw, lighten up. It’s Christmas!” Thomas exclaimed, this time coming to rest against a wall.

“Humbug! It’s just another day.”

“How can you say that? It’s Christmas!”

“Yes, you said before. Now, if you don’t have anything of importance to say then leave.”

“If you really don’t believe then come to my house for dinner. We’ll show you what Christmas is really about.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s not an answer. What happened, uncle? Roman said you used to be so full of joy. He said you used to love Christmas! What happened to make you so cold?”

“Christmas is a farce and that is my last word on the subject. You can partake in your time-wasting as much as you like but don’t pull me into your foolish desires.”

“Fine. But if you change your mind feel free to come to dinner. Merry Christmas, uncle.”

Logan didn’t reply. He watched as Thomas left the shop until the slam of the door and jingle of the bell faded into silence. As he stepped out of the shop and locked the door, Thomas had already disappeared into the now surprisingly empty streets.

Families had retired to their homes, preparing to spend the next day together. The still-falling snow had become icy in places where it had been trodden down. The streets gave off an eerie feeling, like it was a dystopian version of the London he knew.

He hurried through the streets, ignoring any occasional passer-by that wished him merry Christmas. The streetlights were the only source of light as he made his way home, the large houses of his neighborhood looming ominously over him.

Logan walked up the gravel path to his home. A large, empty house that was way too big for just once person to live in, that had too many rooms for one person to use. The grey outline of it was ominous in the low-light as it cut a chilling silhouette. It fit Logan perfectly.  A note had been stuck to his door, the sender not leaving a name. He ripped it off the door and scanned the words, eyebrows furrowing as the words sent a shiver down his spine. 

 _Logan Sanders,_  
You have become cold and callous. There is no joy or warmth left in your heart. If you want to save yourself from a life of suffering and an afterlife of pain, then listen to the spirits. Christmas past, present, and future. Fix. Your. Mistakes.   
12am.  
1am.  
3am.

Logan scoffed, this was why he hated kids. They always had some sort of messed up prank to play. Well, Logan wasn’t going to fall for it. He crumpled up the note and threw it behind him, letting the wind catch it and take it far away from his tired mind as he opened the front door, stepped through it and slammed it shut behind him.

He ran through his normal routine as the night drew later. The silence that filled the house was deafening as Logan sat with a book in his quarters. The creaks and groans of the house, crackling of the log fire and whistling of the wind outside were the only sounds that reached his ears. But he had never been a social person, preferring his own company to others most of the time, with the exception of a rare few people. People who were now long gone.

Logan sighed, closing his book and placing it on a small table next to the padded armchair in which he sat. His mind was turning and whirling with memories of long ago as he stared into the fire that crackled in the fireplace, some memories which he hadn’t thought about for years. The return of those thoughts of the people he had once held dear made him uneasy. He stood and quickly retired to bed, hoping that the unsettling memories would be nothing more than a vague dream by morning.

How wrong he was…


	2. The Ghost of Christmas Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being really long too! I hope it’s okay as it turns the original story on it’s head a bit! Feel free to message me on tumblr! You can find me under the username Meginoi.

As the last chime faded into silence, a deafening crash shook Logan awake. He bolted up and frantically surveyed the room for the cause of the disturbance. The figure at the end of the bed was an eerie spectre, someone Logan had never expected to see again. He was supposed to be dead! So why was he standing in front of Logan as if the scarlet fever had never taken him to his grave?

Roman stood at the end of the bed, hacking at Logan’s armchair with his sword. He proudly wore the costume from the last play he ever starred in, a prince uniform, so white it reminded Logan of newly fallen snow. “I shall smite you, foul beast!” Roman yelled, viciously hacking at the padded armchair.

Logan jumped out of bed, common sense flying out of the window as shock and adrenaline set in. “Roman, Roman stop!” Logan exclaimed, hands flying out in a calming gesture as he approached the figure.

Roman froze in mid-air, as though someone had pressed pause on him, and turned to face Logan. The arm holding the sword dropped to his side as he became sheepish. “Sorry, I haven’t been out in a while. I got a bit excited,” he laughed, other hand rising to rub at the nape of his neck.

Logan didn’t know what to say as he stared at Roman with wide eyes. This couldn’t be Roman. Roman was dead. There was no way he could be here now, ripping the stuffing out of Logan’s favourite chair.

The spirit was staring at him expectantly, as though he was anticipating the question that starting to form in Logan’s mind.

“Who are you? You can’t be Roman. So why do you look like him?” Logan asked, the pain of seeing his brother for the first time since he died last Christmas washing over him in waves of fresh grief.

Roman smiled sadly, picking at the stuffing poking out of the slashed chair. “You’re right, I’m not Roman. I take this form as this is someone that’s important to you. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past and I’m here to show you some things. You have become cold, and you need to be reminded of why you became so along with times when you were happy. So you can fix your mistakes.”

The note was real?! It couldn’t be real, it was just a stupid prank, wasn’t it? What mistakes would he have to fix? His life was perfect, being happy wasn’t important. So what if he was cold? It stopped him from being hurt, it stopped people from hurting him.

“What things?” Logan asked, still unsure.

“That’s half the fun of the adventure,” Roman replied, his eyes shining mysteriously.

Logan laughed awkwardly, the spell that had come over him at seeing Roman shattering. “I must be finally losing it. I’m going back to bed.” He turned and stumbled back towards the double bed.

Roman surged forward, grabbing Logan’s hand. Instantly, they were flying through the air over fields that were buried under blankets of white. Night quickly turned to day, the sun rising so quickly that it hurt Logan’s eyes. They landed soundlessly in front of a grand house. The dull brown of the bricks standing starkly against the bright white of the snow.  The windows were framed with grey stone, giving the building an elegant appearance. A path towards the manor had been cleared, the gravel easily visible as it was framed either side by untouched snow.

Logan stared with wide eyes. Memories rushed back to him at a breakneck pace. Recollections of spending years there. Sitting in classes day after day. The rickety bed with the lumpy mattress that he was too big for by his third year, yet he had to curl up and sleep in anyway. Miserably watching from the window as everyone else went home for Christmas while he was left behind in the cold, dull dormitories. Except one year. The last year….

“Do you remember this?” Roman asked, turning to face Logan. His voice too happy and excited for the overwhelming emotions Logan felt at being back at his old boarding school.

He nods, too chocked up to formulate a coherent answer.

Roman turned back to the building and closed his eyes. Suddenly, they were flying forward again, floating through the wall as though they were no more than ghost who watched from the side lines, unable to intervene. Which, by coincidence, is exactly what they were.

They came to a stop in a silent dormitory, empty except for one figure that sat on one of the beds, his head hanging limply as he stared at the floorboards. A boy of around sixteen years of age. He showed no sign of leaving, his possessions standing in their usual spots, his suitcase still stowed away under his bed. He looked up, pushing his glasses back up as he stared at the snow that fell outside. Both the room and boy in it looked devoid of any joy or warmth.

Logan looked on in pity. Wait, pity? He shouldn’t pity himself. This school and its discipline was what made him into the man he was today. It hurt at the time, but it was worth it in the long run…right?

“Why do you show me this, spirit? I thought you said I needed to see happy memories. So why do you torment me?” Logan asked, turning away from the scene that he wished didn’t affect him as much as it did.

“This is a happy memory but there can never be sun without rain. This part hurt. But it will not hurt forever. Am I right?” Roman replied, staring at the young Logan that now stood as he looked out the window, as if looking for someone.

Logan turned his gaze to the floor. Roman was right, this was a happy memory, but this part hurt. He thought his family had forgotten. They had promised Logan he could come home that Christmas. Yet, Christmas Eve came and there was no sign of them. He was to be stuck there another year. The well-known feeling of resentment towards his parents had bubbled up in him. How could they-

Suddenly, young Logan’s eyes widened, and he bolted from the room. Older Logan was pulled from his reverie. He knew exactly why he had bolted from the room. He had been excited at the time but now he dreaded to go down there and see the reunion with someone who was now six foot underground. Yet, they went anyway. The two floated down through the floors until they reached the ground floor, where young Logan stood on the threshold of the entrance.

A horse and carriage was making its way down the path. They hadn’t forgotten! As it slowed to a stop, the door flew open and a young boy of a similar age to Logan jumped out. He ran towards young Logan. “I’m so sorry, Logan! Mama and father sent me to fetch you but the driver got lost.”

“Roman!” young Logan exclaimed, pulling his brother into a hug, “I missed you so much.”

Tears pricked at older Logan’s eyes. Roman looked so young. He looked so well. Nothing like the last time Logan had seen him in late December just last year. He had been deathly pale, his skin drawn tight over his frail body. The scarlet fever had finally taken him that day, leaving a hole in Logan’s heart that could never be filled. He turned to face the ghost, the sight of Roman, healthy and right in front of him, now causing him even more pain. “I don’t wish to see anymore, spirit. Take me home,” he demanded, tears now streaming down his face.

The ghost stared at him coldly. Maybe this was what it was like when he stared at people. “We still have one more memory to see,” the ghost replied, letting the scene melt away as another faded in.

They stood in front of another brick building, this one even more elegant than his school. A Soft glow could be seen from inside the building, lighting up the rooms as silhouettes could be seen inside, laughing and joking. The front door was ajar, welcoming guests as a stream of people entered. A wreath hung from the door, the last decoration the house would see for a long time.

Logan recognised his home immediately. His first year of running his business. His home when…he had been in his life. No. He knew what this memory was and he had no wish to relive the pain it held. It had almost broke him the first time, who knew what kind of damage it could do a second time?

Roman stepped forward, hand linked firmly with his charge’s own. Logan leaned forward with the movement but made no move to walk forward himself. He was stuck in a cyclone of anguish and pain that was wreaking havoc with his mind, bringing back memories he had locked away for a good reason.

A squeeze of his hand pulled him out of his thoughts. Roman was staring at him, a look of concern contorting his features.

“I know what this is,” Logan whispered, as though saying it quietly wouldn’t make it real.

Roman shouldn’t have been able to hear the words over the wind that whipped around them, but it was obvious he had. The look of concern changed to pity as he stepped closer. “I told you that you needed to remember why you became cold. This is a pivotal moment, and you need to see it. The sooner you step through the door the sooner it’s over.”

Logan nodded, sighed, and forced his legs to move. The pair made their way up the path and into the house.

The party was exactly like Logan remembered. The oak interior reflected the light, making everything seem bright, as though it shined. There was a cheery atmosphere as festive music drifted from the band that played in the parlour.

People laughed and chatted, their voices merging into a low buzz that permeated the air. The scent of pine was fresh and invigorating as Logan stepped out of the cold that seemed to sink into his bones.

The cheery atmosphere inside did nothing to lift his spirits, only to lower them even more. They walked through packed rooms towards the back of the house, each step making Logan’s feet feel heavier and heavier.  

All too quickly, they came to a closed door. Two voices could be heard from the other side, their words unintelligible. Roman, who never relinquished his grip on Logan’s wrist, pulled him forward. They seamlessly moved through the wall and into the room.

The walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with books. The bookshelves stretched around the room, only breaking for the door and a large bay window that overlooked the garden. Two armchairs sat in prime position to look out over the view as snow fell silently outside. A small table was placed in between the two chairs, a book and a candle left on top. However, these two chairs were not occupied. The two figures in question were standing on the other side of the room, seemingly in a heated debate.

“I love you, Logan, but I can’t do this anymore,” the first figure replied. Pain was evident in his voice. He was dressed in a winter coat with a suitcase at his feet, as though he was planning on leaving.

The second figure looked like a younger Logan, no older than twenty-one. He looked on emotionlessly, his face giving no clue to the heartbreak he was feeling. “Can’t do what, Patton?” Logan asked, sounding disinterested.

“This!” Patton exclaimed, gesturing to Logan. “You’re not the man I met, the man I loved. Business has made you cold, it’s torn us apart. You don’t love me anymore,” His voice cracked, even in the dim lighting it was easy to tell Patton was crying. He looked down at his hands, sliding the engagement ring off and placing it on a nearby table. “I hope your money makes you happy in a way I obviously never could.” Patton turned away, making his way towards the door.

“Where are you going to go?” Logan asked.

“Anywhere that’s not here. I’d rather be on the streets than live with someone I barely know anymore,” Patton replied, hand on the door handle. “If you ever become kind again, if the man I fell in love with comes back, come find me. Goodbye, Logan.” Patton turned the handle and opened the door, stepping through and silently shutting behind him.

The room was silent as the pair watched the younger Logan. He stood, frozen to the spot as he stared at the spot where Patton had just stood.

Logan stared at his younger self with a mix of pain and disbelief. Wasn’t he going to go after him?! He already knew the answer but asked himself the question regardless.

Suddenly, he launched into action, running across the room and throwing open the door. Roman and Logan watched as he took off, running through the house. But it was no use, Patton was gone.

Logan reached up to wipe the tears from his cheeks. When had he started crying? Roman sighed and turned to Logan, whose silent crying had progressed to heart-wrenching sobs. “Can we go now?” Logan asked, sounding more like a small child than an adult.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to Patton?” Roman asked, making no move to return Logan to his bedroom.

“What happened?” Logan forced out through gritted teeth. He didn’t even know if he wanted to know the answer. All he knew was that he wanted to go home.

“After he left you, he couldn’t find a job or anywhere to stay. He ended up in _your_ workhouse. He’s still there to this day. Are you happy with what you did now? If you hadn’t been so cold maybe Patton would still be with you and not freezing to death in a workhouse.”

Logan’s hand flew to his mouth. He felt sick. This couldn’t be happening. It was a twist of events that was to harrowing for Logan to even imagine. No, he couldn’t deal with this. He wanted to go home, he needed to go home.

“Let me go, spirit. You’ve shown me all you need to. Now take me home,” he yelled, devastated tears still falling.

Roman nodded. “As you wish,” he pushed Logan back through the wall they came through. Logan stumbled but didn’t fall into the hallway he expected. A seemingly never-ending void was waiting for him instead. He fell, shouts and screams for help going unheard.

Then he felt the softness of his blankets and was overtaken by sleep before his mind even processed that he was back home.

 

 


	3. The Ghost of Christmas Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry for this chapter! Thank you to lamp-calm-sanders on tumblr for the premise!

Logan dreamed for the first time since Patton left. Dreams that were more like nightmares. He was almost relieved to be roused out of them at one am. The second spirit stood in front of him, patiently waiting for Logan’s mind to shake away the fog of sleep. The spirit wore a disguise that broke Logan’s heart. Patton stood in front of him, smiling widely. Logan hadn’t seen that smile in so long…

He wore the last outfit Logan had ever seen him in: a pale blue winter coat over a finely tailored suit.

“Good evening, Logan! Or should I say good morning?” the spirit exclaimed, still grinning.

Logan hesitated for a moment. “You’re not Patton, are you?” he asked. He knew it would be impossible for Patton to actually be standing in front of him, but it was difficult to extinguish that small spark of hope.

Patton smiled at him. It wasn’t his usual grin that could easily light up a room, it held sadness, pity almost. “You already know the answer to that, don’t you?” he replied.

Logan looked to the floor, Patton was right, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. “And what kind of terrors have you come to show me?” he asked, apprehensive of the answer.

“They’re only terrors if you let them scare you,” Patton answered, offering his hand to Logan.

Logan glanced at it unsurely for a few seconds before leaning forward and taking Patton’s hand. Butterflies erupted in his stomach as their fingers intertwined. Patton may not really be in front of him, but it didn’t stop Logan’s heart from quickening at the touch.

The room faded away on Patton’s command and they flew through the snow-covered streets of London, over houses that looked like they were straight out of a scene from a Christmas card. The sun rose as they flew, lighting up the streets and making the snow look like it sparkled. As the houses became smaller and closer together, they slowed down and came to a stop in front of a small, ramshackle house.

Logan stared at the house in confusion. He’d never seen this place before, he’d never even been into this part of London before. It was unheard of for Logan to step foot into a lower-class neighbourhood, his pride had made sure of that.

Two figures caught Logan’s eye as they made their way towards them. They walked slowly, one seeming to have trouble walking while the other held a small turkey. Logan watched with interest as the figure’s faces came into view. He instantly recognised the one holding the turkey to be Jackson, his worker. The one with the crutches he had never seen before, though Logan guessed it was Jackson’s son from the way he helped him along. He looked to be no older than sixteen but he had bags under his eyes that rivalled some adults’.

“That’s Virgil, Jackson’s youngest,” Patton explained, as though he could read Logan’s thoughts.

 Logan and Patton watched as they came to a stop outside the small house. Jackson held the door open for his son before stepping inside himself. Patton surged forward, dragging Logan forward with him. They phased through the door, entering into a small dining room on the other side. A table took up most of the room, a litany chairs surrounding it and leaving just enough room to walk around.

Patton and Logan looked on as Jackson helped Virgil into a seat before disappearing into the small kitchen. The teenager was panting, the physical exertion of using his crutches to walk exhausting him. Logan looked in on mild shock as he surveyed the small room before moving onto the kitchen.

_‘This is where Jackson has to live?’_ Logan thought as a number of small children ran around in the small space, dodging around the adults and skidding to a halt before they ran into objects. There was no way this small house was big enough for the family that lived there. He watched on in curiosity as Jackson approached his wife and placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face him at the touch, smiling as her eyes landed on him.

“How was he?” she asked, turning back to the pot she was stirring.

“As brilliant as always. The churchgoers love seeing him,” Jackson smiled, “though I don’t know how much longer he’ll be able to go. It tires him out too much, he’s getting weaker.”

His wife froze, turning back to face him. “Don’t say that, Jack,” She whispered, a few tears slipping down her cheeks, “he’s a strong boy. He’ll get through the winter.”

Jackson nodded, though he didn’t look like he believed his wife’s words.

Logan turned to face Patton, suddenly filled with worry. “Virgil…he isn’t going to…is he?”

Patton turned to face the boy who sat in the chair, who was still trying to even out his breathing. “Logan, he’s getting very weak very quickly. If the path he is on isn’t changed, then yes…Virgil will die.”

Logan looked away, discreetly wiping away the few tears that managed to fall. People might think he was heartless but even he couldn’t stand resolute in the face of someone dying so young. Before his eyes, the scene faded away. The colours dulled until it looked more like a painting before it started to peel away like ancient paint, making the reveal of the next scene agonisingly slow.

The house they now stood in was a lot bigger. It was one Logan instantly recognised, he had been there before a few times. A large Christmas tree stood in front of a bay window. Armchairs and sofas were dotted around the room, all filled with people who were laughing and drinking. Thomas stood by a grand piano in the corner, chatting idly with the pianist as he sipped on his own glass of champagne.

“Thomas,” someone called from across the room, “is your uncle not going to be joining us?”

Thomas turned away from the pianist, letting out a dry chuckle. “You’re kidding right. I have never let a man so opposed to Christmas in my life.”

A chorus of giggles sounded from around the room. “Oh? Do tell, Thomas,” an unfamiliar face chimed in.

“Well, I went to see him yesterday and wish I hadn’t made the journey. He said Christmas is a farce and anyone who celebrates it is wasting their time.”

A chorus of “what a monster!” and “how could he?!” sounded throughout the room.

“And I was right!” Logan interjected, “I still am.”

Patton ignored him, continuing to watch the scene.

“And so, I invited him to dinner and left. He can decide if he wants to take the offer up. And if not then he is missing out on a lovely meal,” Thomas finished.

“Well, what did you expect, Thomas?” A man chimed in, “he may be your uncle, but everyone knows he is once of the most cold and callous men to ever walk god’s earth. Honestly, I still have no idea how him and Roman were related, your father and him were nothing alike.”

“I know,” Thomas chuckled, taking a sip of his champagne. “But he’s family, and I’m stuck with him.”

The conversation changed, the guests forgetting the cold comments in a heartbeat. Yet, it was harder for Logan to do. The words whirled and turned in his mind, causing waves of anguish to shoot through his heart. He knew he could maybe be warmer towards people but was he really that bad? Did everyone really think that little of him? He turned away, wanting to flee the scene as quickly as possible. “I’m ready to go, Patton. Take me home.”

“Not yet,” Patton replied, shaking his head. “There’s still one more person you need to see.”

Logan sighed and hung his head. Could he really take anymore of this?

The room started to fade again, peeling away to expose a cold, grey building that was covered in snow. Logan stumbled back as he saw it. No. Not here. Anywhere but there.

The pair phased through the tall gates that surrounded the workhouse and walked towards the door, a cold, heavy, metal thing with many locks. Logan’s legs protested against every step he took, seizing up as though they could physically freeze him in place. But he pushed on, the sooner he got there the sooner it would be over.

The interior of the building was just as unwelcoming as the outside. Everything was painted a dull grey, adding to the already cold atmosphere. It drained the life out of people who entered, seemingly able to pull the happiness right out of anyone who lived or worked there.

Logan shivered, his breath visible in the air in front of him as he looked around in horror. He had never bothered to check on his workhouse. He only cared that it was making him money, that was the most important thing to him. But something had changed… As they walked through the cramped aisles, people shivering in their sleep on either side, he felt nothing short of horror at the conditions they lived in, the conditions he had provided for them. He turned to Patton, confident he had found the reason why he had been taken there. As soon as the next day dawned he would fix it, that was a promise he would be sure to keep. “I understand why you bought me here now,” he stated, sounding confident.

“Really? That’s great, Logan!” Patton grinned, coming to a stop a few steps ahead.

“You want me to improve the workhouse. I promise as soon as I’m returned home I shall start improvements.”

Patton’s face fell, his gaze dropping to the ground. “You still don’t understand do you?”

“What do you mean?” No. Please. Don’t show me him.

“You know what I mean. That’s only half of the reason. It is true that these conditions are appalling but there’s one more thing here you need to see,” Patton sighed, turning and continuing down the aisle.

Logan followed, a sense of dread settling into his stomach. They walked past the never-ending lines of people, coughs and cries the only sound that filled the silence. It felt like they walked forever, turning into room after room before exiting into a dark hallway again.

Suddenly, Patton came to an abrupt stop and Logan felt a fresh wave of dread wash over him. He kept his eyes focused on the spirit in front of him. If he didn’t look down at the sight before him maybe it wouldn’t be real. The spirit turned and its eyes landed on a person in front of the pair. He stared for a second before looking to Logan, who had focused his gaze on a spot on the wall. “Logan,” the spirit whispered. “Look.”

Logan shook his head, tears filling his eyes and slipping down his cheeks.

“Look!” That voice that Logan knew so well held a tone he’d neve heard from it before: anger. It was a command, one that Logan couldn’t refuse. He forced his eyes down to the figure in front of him and stumbled back in shock.

Patton lay in front of him – the real Patton. He shivered violently as he tugged the threadbare blanket tightly around himself. He was barely recognisable from when Logan last saw him. He was painfully thin, his ragged clothes exposing his painfully thin frame. The black bags under his eyes rivalled those he had seen on Virgil, making Logan’s heart clench and his gust nauseously twist.

A sob escaped Logan as he dropped to his knees. How could he let this happen? He had promised Patton he would protect him and failed miserably. Those people were right, he was a monster. He had to be to not have noticed that Patton had been suffering right under his nose this whole time.

But he could fix this right? He had to. Patton had told him to find him and now was his chance! He stood and turned to the spirit, the excitement of a plan glinting in his eyes. But it dissolved quickly as he jumped back in shock. The ghost no longer looked like the happy, healthy Patton he remembered. He had changed into the Patton before him, his form melting and changing before his eyes. “How could you let this happen, Logan?” the ghost cried, hurt clear in his eyes.

“No, I can fix this!” Logan exclaimed, panic quickly clouding his brain.

“How do you know it can be fixed?” The spirit asked. “How do you know you still can help?”

“I have to fix it! I can’t leave Patton here!” Logan yelled, rapidly becoming hysterical. His tears quickly started to cloud his vision, instantly blinding him again as soon as they were wiped away.

 It felt like years to Logan before his tears slowly started to recede, his vision gradually returning. As the panic and adrenaline started to ebb away, he hung his head, a bone deep exhaustion settling into his bones. Then he realised, the room was oddly quiet.

Logan looked round in confusion, the cold stone floor of the workhouse had been replaced with the wood of his bedroom. Three chimes sounded from deep in the house. He was back in his bedroom, the ghost of Christmas present nowhere to be found…

A black figure drifted into his vision. Its feet didn’t touch the floor, hanging limply as the being floated an inch of the floor.

Logan looked up, a hooded figure stood in front of him…

 

 


	4. The Ghost of Christmas Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot shorter than the others! Thank you to lamp-calm-sanders on tumblr for the premise

The figure before Logan stared down at him, cutting a menacing figure. He stared up at the ghost with a mix of wonder and fear. From what was visible of its form Logan deduced it would most likely be another male. He was wearing clothes Logan had never seen before, tight-fitting trousers, and an odd sort of purple and black coat with the hood pulled so far over that it covered his face.

  
“A-are you the final spirit?” Logan stuttered, managing to find his voice as the rest of his boy froze with fear.

  
The ghost carried on staring somewhere in his general vicinity, it was hard to tell with the way the hood obscured his eyes, the only acknowledgement he got to his question was a slight yet silent nod.

  
“Cat got your tongue?” Logan’s question was answered with more silence. “Who are you going to be masquerading as this time. My father maybe, who never though my best was good enough? Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you’re my mother, who always preferred Roman to me, who was the reason I was sent to boarding school and Roman wasn’t? C’mon, get this over with!” Logan cried, his fear morphing into adrenaline as his words flew from his mouth with no filter.

  
Then suddenly, the spirit moved. He raised his hands and removed his hood.

  
Logan jumped back in shock. He had been expecting someone who had scared him, even stretching past his parents to the headmaster of his boarding school, who had never liked him. No, instead he saw someone he barely knew, someone he’d only met with the previous ghost. Virgil stood in front of him. Normally, he looked like he would stand a few feet shorter than Logan, but he was the face to face with him as he floated just above the floor, his crutches nowhere to be seen.

  
“This doesn’t make sense. I don’t know Jackson’s son,” Logan uttered, more to himself than to Virgil.

  
“I know. But the boy will make a change in your life, whether you like it or not,” Virgil explained, his voice a warped and mangled version of how it had been in the scene Patton had showed him, this one sounded almost double-layered. He surveyed the room, eyes roaming yet unseeing. “We need to go. There’s not much time left.”

  
Logan didn’t have chance to question him before he shouted and jumped backwards. The floor started to crumble and fall away, as though it was rapidly decaying. The parlour room below was visible for a second but was quickly whizzed away as the bedroom was seemingly detached from the rest of the house and started to fly through the streets. The sun had already risen, and people filled the streets as they laughed and revelled in the magic that was Christmas Day.

  
Logan soon found himself in a familiar house, one he had not long left. Yet, it didn’t share the Christmas cheer it had held before. A number of people sat around the dining table, looking positively heartbroken. The small house was devoid of any Christmas decorations and soft cries of grief was the only sound that filled the air.

  
Logan felt his heart drop into his stomach as they ascended into the upper floor. A figure lay on a small bed, covered with a white sheet. Jackson kneeled on the floor beside it, his head resting on the mattress as his shoulders shook with the intensity of his cries. No, it couldn’t be Virgil, could it?

  
“Spirit, please tell me Virgil is not the one who resides under that sheet,” Logan whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from the heart-breaking scene as his own tears started to fall.

  
“I can’t do that, Logan. It would be a lie. He died peacefully on Christmas Eve, another cold winter was too much for him to handle. A warm house to come home to and some medicine would have ensured his survival,” the ghost’s dulcet tones rang through the air.

  
A small sob escaped Logan as his vision became clouded with tears. That poor boy. He hadn’t even had a chance to live yet. It just wasn’t fair.

  
“Come. We have more to see,” the ghost commanded, a wave of his arm rippling and marring the picture like a water disturbance as it changed to a new scene.

  
Logan hastily wiped away the few remaining tears as confusion set in. They were back at his own house, only now they looked down on the exterior of it.

  
Except something wasn’t right.

  
Instead of the usual hush that fell over his property it was instead awash with people. The front door had been left wide open as people milled in and out of the house. Some carried his possessions that seemed to be…covered in blood?

  
Logan turned to face Virgil, confusion and distress rapidly taking over his mind. “What happened?” he asked, not fully sure if he wanted to know if answer was what he feared.

  
Virgil turned to away from the scene to face him. “I think you know what happened.” At that moment, Virgil waved his arm, and the conversation of a passing police officer and investigator easily reached his ears, as though it had magically become fed through a loudspeaker.

  
“He deserved it. Putting all those people in that awful workhouse,” the police officer said, a look of distaste curling around his features.

  
“Yeah, the guy had it coming to him. He angered a lot of people. It was inevitable one of those people was going to come looking for revenge sooner or later,” the investigator replied.

  
“Is the perpetrator going to be released? I mean, from what I heard the guy was doing everyone a favour by knocking off the infamous Logan Sanders.”

  
“Already done. Police are writing it off as self-defence. No ones going to contest it anyway, everyone hated him.”

  
The conversation faded away again as Logan dropped to his knees. No, this couldn’t be happening. He’d been murdered, and the killer had just been allowed to walk free?! He stared at the scene in shock, eyes unseeing as his mind tried to process everything he’d just heard. “I can’t do this anymore, Virgil. I can’t handle anymore.”

  
“Tough. We still have one more sight to see.”

  
“I just witnessed the aftermath my own death! My killer walked free! How do you expect me to just see that and move on?”

  
“Because that’s what you made people do,” Virgil snapped. “You took their loved ones from them like it was nothing an expected them to move on with their lives. That was heartless, and you need to see your fate if you carry on this way.”

  
“I’ve already seen it! And I promise I’m going to be better,” Logan cried.

  
“That’s not all. Your actions have already affected others, and now you need to see their outcomes too.”

  
Logan sighed and hung his head in defeat, there was no way he was going to get out of this. He raised his hand and gestured for Virgil to continue. The view changed again. The animated transition becoming clunky and disjointed as the power of the spirits neared its end.

  
Yet, the scene appeared. The gates of the workhouse had been flung wide open. People filed out of the snow-filled yard and onto the streets. Families waited for many as they embraced their loved ones who they had been too poor to pay the release fee for. Some, however, were left pitifully alone. Logan recognised Patton as one of the latter. He still held the blanket tightly around his form as he looked around in fear and hopelessness. Where could he go? He had no one in the world, no one to take him in.

  
Logan shouted for him as he made his way down the street, now condemned to a life of poverty. Patton didn’t hear his shouts as he stumbled past families that paid him no mind. He wouldn’t last long in the freezing temperatures, that much was painfully obvious.

  
Logan wanted to run to him, to embrace him and protect him from the world and all of his cruelties. But it was impossible, he was stuck in that room. Forced to become and onlooker of some sick future he wished wasn’t even possible. Logan stood, turning to face Virgil, the fear and hysteria that had been evident on his face before was no longer there, it had melted away and been replaced with a fierce determination. “I need to fix this, Virgil. I can’t let this happen. Tell me how to fix it!”

  
“How do you know it can be fixed? How do you know you are not already destined for this path?” Virgil asked, his form seeming to become slightly dimmer.

  
“Because you wouldn’t have showed me if it was! Please, I promise to be better. I’ll make an effort to be nicer. I’ll go find Patton. I’ll go see Thomas and look after Jackson and his family. I’ll do anything to make sure this future is changed!”

  
Silence fell over the two as Logan waited for Virgil’s reaction.

  
“Then my work here is done,” the spirit spoke, a small smile creeping onto his face.

  
“What do you mean?” Logan asked, “is it enough?”

  
“Only you can decide that, Logan.”

  
“I promise I’ll make sure it’s enough,” Logan exclaimed.

  
“Well, get on with it then,” Virgil replied, snapping his fingers and plunging them into darkness.

  
The sunlight drifting through the window slowly pulled Logan from his sleep. He stretched and let himself fall back onto the soft pillows before his mind caught up and sent him rocketing out of bed, the events of the night suddenly racing back to his memory.

  
He ran to the window and threw open the thin curtains.

  
It was Christmas Day.


	5. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, it’s finally here, albeit a little late! Thank you to everyone who’s taken their time to read this, i can’t thank you enough! Also, can i just say A Christmas Carol being mentioned in the new Sanders Sides video had me shook. For the final time, thank you to lamp-calm-sanders on tumblr!

Logan practically spun around the room as he hastily dressed. A plan quickly formed in his mind as he made a third attempt at properly tying his tie despite his shaky hands. As he thought about all the deeds he planned to do that day, his heart felt light, a feeling Logan hadn’t felt in a long time.

  
As he jumped into action for his first deed, he rushed over to his nearby desk and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, quickly scribbling something down before throwing away the pen and rushing out into the hallway.

  
He took the stairs two at a time, barely remembering to grab his coat off the hook by the door before he stepped out into the cold December day. The hour was still early and the streets still empty, but it seemed like Logan had luck on his side. A young boy was playing nearby, dragging a sled as he trudged through the snow.

  
“Boy!” Logan shouted, eager to grab his attention. The boy turned around, shock appearing on his face as he recognised the infamous face that called him. Logan Sanders didn’t even acknowledge kids existed, let alone call out to them.

  
“Yes, sir?” the boy asked, preparing himself for some kind of scolding.

  
“Do you know the butcher around the corner?” he asked. It was an odd question to ask a child, but it was the quickest way to get his plan into action.

  
“Course I do, sir!” the boy replied, relaxing as he realised he probably wasn’t going to be shouted at.

  
“Does he still have the twenty-pound turkey in the window?”

  
“I think so.”

  
“Then I want you to go and get it.” He handed the boy a twenty-pound note, “and have it delivered to this address. Do you understand me?”

  
“Yes, Mr Sanders!” the boy exclaimed, staring down in astonishment at the sheer amount of money in his hand.

  
“Good, and here’s some extra for your troubles.” Logan reached into his pocket and handed over a five-pound note. “Don’t spend it all on sweets,” he quipped.

  
“Wow, thank you sir! I’ll go to the butchers right away,” the lad responded, turning and taking off down the road, his sled bumping and banging against the pavement as he ran.

  
Logan watched the retreating figure with a smile before turning and heading back inside. The next plan he had in mind required a little more planning…

  
By the time he had stepped back out, the streets were buzzing with people. He smiled at the sight of families taking their mid-morning walk and stepped out onto the pavement. Shock was clearly visible on the faces of passer-by’s as Logan bid them good morning and merry Christmas. A familiar face caught his eye as he walked through the streets, the figure noticed him too but didn’t make an attempt to acknowledge him. What a lucky twist of fate this was, two of his plans had fallen together!

  
“Good morning, sir!” Logan said as he neared the charity collector. “I must apologize for my atrocious behaviour yesterday, I am here to make it up to you.”

  
The charity collector stared at him in shock. “Mr Sanders, I did not expect to see you again.”

  
“No, I didn’t expect too see you but let’s say I’ve had a…change of heart. I’d like you to allow me to donate to your cause. Is one hundred pounds acceptable?”

  
“One-hundred pounds! Are you sure, Mr Sanders?”

  
“I am perfectly sure. I must be going but please let me know of the progression of your charity. It is a righteous cause indeed. Merry Christmas to you!” Logan replied before carrying on down the street. A faint cry of “merry Christmas to you too!” reached his ears but he didn’t turn. Two deeds down, two to go.

  
The walk to the workhouse was a short one. The fast-paced stride Logan set halved the twenty-minute walk to a mere ten minutes. As he rounded the corner, the workhouse came into view. The buildings on either side of its wrought iron gates were decorated, the ornaments merrily twinkling in the sunlight. It made the workhouse look even duller and soul-crushing than usual.

  
Logan shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and made his way towards the gates. The sight of the workhouse didn’t make him happy by any means but the thought of the next phase of his plan sent butterflies twirling and tumbling in his stomach.

He fished a key out of his pocket and unlocked the big, brass lock that chained the gates shut. The untouched snow crunched underfoot as he walked across the yard, the workhouse looming ominously over him.

  
The slam of the front door sent all of the staff’s heads turning. They jumped back in shock at the sight of their boss but asked no questions as he strode past them, not sparing them a second glance.

  
Logan twisted and turned down corridors, following from memory the route he and the spirit had taken the night before. His heart contracted painfully in his chest as he walked past the shivering occupants.

  
Then he saw him. Patton. Lying on the cold floor with that threadbare blanket Logan had become so used to seeing. He kneeled down, staying silent as Patton slowly awoke with the light touch Logan offered as he placed his hand on his lower leg.   
Patton sighed and slowly opened his eyes. He glanced around the room, eyes widening as his gaze landed on Logan. “Logan,” he started. “Is that you?”

  
Logan smiled. “Yeah, Pat. It’s me.”

  
“W-what are you doing here?”

  
“I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done. I’ve hurt you in unimaginable ways. But you told me to come find you if I changed and I believe I have. So, what do you say to getting out of here with me?”

  
“I-I can’t believe you remembered that. The answer to your question is yes, I’d love to get out of here!”

  
Logan smiled as Patton pulled him into a hug. It was a weak imitation of the ones he used to give but it had an undeniable sense that was just _him_. Logan stood and offered a hand to Patton, who gladly accepted it.

  
Logan slung Patton’s arm over his shoulder as they made their way out of the building. The staff went back to staring as the two made their way towards the exit. Except, this time Logan stopped.

  
He glanced around at the staff stood around him and let one of his trademark scowls turn and twist his features. “The conditions here are abysmal. I expect a plan to improve the conditions to be ready by New Year’s Day, if you all want to keep your jobs then heed this warning and do what I ask. These poor people need help, not to rot in the squalor they live in now. Provisions will be sent to make their time bearable until then.”

  
At that, Logan helped Patton out the door, leaving a line of shocked staff behind him.

  
The walk to Logan’s house was filled with silence. The streets were now much quieter, the families that had emerged for their Christmas walk earlier were had now retired back inside to prepare Christmas dinner. Both were thankful for it as they cut an odd figure, a man dressed in tailored clothes helping a man in threadbare ones down the street.

  
As they turned into the gates surrounding Logan’s home, Patton gasped.

  
Logan turned to him immediately, concerned something had happened.

  
“Where are all the decorations?” He asked, staring up at the house with a sad expression.

  
“I never put up any. I didn’t see the point if you weren’t there.”

  
“Logan…you mean you haven’t put any decorations up since I left?”

  
“No,” Logan whispered.

  
Patton didn’t reply, continuing to stare sadly at the bare windows. He sighed in relief as the front door swung inwards, a wave of warmth hit him, instantly warming his chilled bones. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt warmth like that. He lifted his arm from around Logan’s shoulders before taking his hand instead.

  
“I’m sorry, I need to leave again but I’ll be back soon. Please help yourself to anything you need, nothing’s changed,” Logan explained, looking sheepish.

  
“You’re leaving so soon? I-is my stuff still here?” Patton asked, hesitancy to ask filling his voice.

  
“I apologise but it’s unavoidable. Your things are still here, I couldn’t bring myself to move them.”

  
Patton smiled, seeming a touch brighter than it had in that dreadful workhouse. “Be back soon,” he quipped before leaning up and pressing a kiss to Logan’s cheek.

  
Logan squeezed Patton’s hand before heading back out the door in an attempt to hide the blush that was rapidly rising up his cheeks. He let his mind wander as he walked to his next destination, an array of ways to make it up to Patton flew through his mind, he wanted to do every single one of them, Patton deserved them all.

  
Before he knew it, he was standing outside Jackson’s door. His feet had made their way there of their own accord, dragging his far-away mind along with them. Logan could hear laughing and chattering through the thin walls of the house. He steeled himself and knocked, patiently waiting for the door to open.

  
Jackson jumped back in surprise as he set eyes upon Logan standing at his door. “Mr Sanders!” he exclaimed, voice rising in shock. A number of people stood behind him, staring over his shoulders or around his frame.

  
“I’m sorry to intrude but I wanted to make sure you got the gift I sent,” Logan spoke, smiling as he set eyes upon Virgil, who had pushed through to stand at his father’s side.

  
“Did you really send that turkey?” Jackson asked, disbelief tainting his voice.

  
“Indeed I did. However, that is not the end of the gifts I plan to give you. I have been an absolutely monstrous employer and you have been subjected to my horrific attitude. That is why I’m giving you a pay rise to get you out of these cramped lodgings and insisting I pay for any of your family’s future medical costs,” Logan explained, eyes glancing at a shocked Virgil during the last sentence before returning to Jackson.

  
“Mr Sanders, I couldn’t possibly accept-“ Jackson started.

  
“No, I insist. It’s the least I could do,” Logan interrupted.

  
“Thank you so much! I can’t thank you enough!”

  
“You don’t need to thank me. It is the season of giving, after all.”

  
“Please come in and eat dinner with us, we’d be happy to have you!” Jackson offered, stepping to the side to clear the doorway.

  
“Thank you but I’m afraid I must decline. I have some more business to attend to,” Logan replied, before bowing his head and turning away. “Merry Christmas,” he called as he left.

  
“Merry Christmas!” Jackson exclaimed as he shut the door.

  
As he reached his own house, Logan opened the door to be met with Patton in a light blue suit. He felt a grin uncontrollably make it’s way onto his face, this is the Patton he remembered.

  
“You’re back!” Patton exclaimed, rushing forward and hugging him.

  
Logan wrapped his arms around Patton’s waist, pulling him closer. It still felt like a weird dream, like he could lose Patton any moment and wake tangled in the bedsheets and short of breath. So he hid his face in Patton’s shoulder, knowing deep down this was more than a great dream but taking the opportunity anyway. “I have the oddest story,” he started as he pulled away, keeping his hands on Patton’s waist as the other’s arms looped around his neck. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

  
“Good. The craziest people are the best,” Patton smirked.

  
Logan pulled away and led Patton into the parlour where they had parted all those years ago. He wanted to start right where they left off…

  
As the winter sun set and gave way to a sky full of stars, Patton and Logan bundled up in winter coats and stepped out of the now decorated house. They had spent the entire day hastily decorating every inch of the house and filling the house with a cheer it hadn’t held in a long time.

  
As they made their way through the streets, they idly chatted, commenting on decorated houses and carollers they passed. Their walk to Thomas’ house wasn’t a long one, Roman and Logan had always lived close to each other. As they made their way up the steps, the sight inside a bay window was clearly visible, the same scene Logan had seen the night before. He internally grimaced at the memory of the cutting words he had hears but pushed on, determined to make things right.

  
A silent butler opened the door, taking their jackets and escorting them to the drawing room. Logan paused for a moment as the conversation reached his ears before pushing open the door.

  
“Thomas, is your uncle not going to be joining us?”

  
Thomas let a dry chuckle before his eyes widened as he turned to the door. “Uncle!” he exclaimed, the shock at his presence painfully obvious. The room turned uncomfortably quiet.

  
“I decided to accept your invitation. If it still stands, that is.”

  
“Of course it does!” Thomas beamed, offering both Patton and Logan a glass of champagne, “You’re just on time. We were just about to have dinner.”

  
“This is Patton. My…friend,” Logan stuttered, looking to Patton for reassurance.

  
“Sure,” Thomas laughed and winked, “nice to meet you, Patton.”

  
“A pleasure to meet you too, Thomas. I met your father many times, he was a great man,” Patton replied, accepting Thomas’ handshake.

  
“C’mon, let’s go eat,” Thomas smiled, leading the way to the dining room.

  
As they took their seats, Patton took Logan’s hand and squeezed it inconspicuously.

  
Logan tuned his head at the feeling, catching the smile and small wink Patton threw his way. He returned the gesture with a small smile before they sat side by side for dinner.

  
Maybe everything was going to be okay after all…

  
—————————————–

  
A year passed, and Patton and Logan left the newly decorated house once more, walking arm in arm through the crowded streets.

  
Logan let Patton’s excited chattering wash over him. It sent a wave of nostalgia through him, bringing back memories of the year before when he had found Patton after a crazy night with three spirits.

  
The walk to their destination was quick and sure, they had made the journey many times before.

  
As they knocked on the door, it was almost instantly flung open. The pair jumped back in shock before quickly recovering themselves. Virgil stood at the door, no crutch to be seen. “They’re here!” he called, stepping to the side to invite them inside.

  
“Logan!” A voice called from the kitchen, which was quickly revealed to be Jackson.

  
“Jackson!” Logan mimicked, stepping forwards to shake hands. “How’s the new house?”

  
“It’s marvellous, it’s done wonders for Virgil’s health! A little money can do wonders. Thank you so much for all your help.”

  
“Don’t mention it. This is my fiancé, Patton,” Logan replied, turning to Patton, who stepped forward and exchanged pleasantries before shaking hands with Jackson.

  
“Sit down, we’re just about to eat,” Jackson spoke before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  
True to his word, within half and hour everyone was seated in the dining room. As the sound of chattering and laughing filled the air, Patton turned to Logan. “Merry Christmas,” he smiled, sweetly kissing Logan.

  
“Merry Christmas,” Logan smiled, returning the kiss with equal love.

  
What a change one night with three spirits could make…


End file.
